


One is a Liar

by Infinatesky



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1920's, Arts Student Shane, Cursed ring, Demon, Demon possession, Embedded Images, Friends to Lovers, Ghost Hunting, History, Hurt/Comfort, I swear it's more exciting than it sounds, I'll add more tags as the story progresses, Internalized Homophobia, LA, M/M, Museums, New York, Pining, Research, Sad Ending, Shane works in a museum, Slow Burn, Special Powers, Travel, YouTube, Youtuber Ryan, haunted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinatesky/pseuds/Infinatesky
Summary: When Shane's beloved museum job is threatened by budget cuts, he agrees to take on a research project for a stranger named Ryan. But Ryan is looking for more than just a few quick facts.-Excerpt from chapter 4:"By then it’s too late. Shane’s vision begins to go foggy as the ring takes control of his mind. If Ryan’s speaking to him, Shane doesn’t register it. He faintly feels pressure against his arm, and thinks maybe someone is breathing against his ear. All he hears is dead silence. All he sees is pitch black.Three flight attendants are gathered around Shane in various states of panic when he regains his mind to himself. The ring is still on his finger, but it seems to have let him go for now. Ryan’s standing off to the side, leaning back against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself. He looks scared and disoriented: about the same as Shane feels."





	1. Dig the Vibe

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is more of a teaser for the fic. I created two mood boards to help myself (and hopefully you!) to get a sense of the mood of the writing. I also chose a quote from Ed Sheeran's 'Photograph' that I think fits the story nicely. 
> 
> The first collage, the orange one, is an aesthetic for the story and the two main characters. 
> 
> The second collage is a few ideas for the part of the story that takes place in the 1920's, which you'll learn more about later...
> 
> I hope this caught your interest! The first chapter will be up in the next day or two, so subscribe if you'd like to be notified on that. 
> 
> Thank you and ttyl xx

“And if you hurt me 

That's okay baby, only words bleed 

Inside these pages you just hold me 

And I won't ever let you go” 


	2. Initiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really the official first chapter of the fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! I have a lot of ideas for this fic, and I'm so excited to write more and share them with you.

Getting off a bus always feels like a more stressful experience than it rightfully should be. It’s the timing that’s the problem - Shane has to make sure that he rings the button in time to get ready for his stop, but not too early because then the bus will stop at the one before it. He also has to pull his rain jacket back over his shoulders and push his way through the bus crowd so he can get to the door, but not when the bus is making that corner, because Shane has accidentally knocked a few people over already, and that isn’t something he wants to repeat. Obnoxiously long legs and arms don’t pair well with his poor sense of balance. 

Today, on this delightful stormy Monday, Shane manages to make it off the bus without any casualties. He holds his raincoat over himself with both arms above his head and starts off the rest of the way towards work on foot. The sidewalk, uneven and cracked, has quite a few nice little spots for the rain water to get trapped in, so his head’s bent and his eyes are glued to the ground in an attempt to safeguard the very un-waterproof tops of his shoes. He’s so entranced in this activity that it takes him shoulder checking another pedestrian to remind himself that other people exist. Well, it was Shane's shoulder that made contact, but because of Shane’s tallness, his shoulder hit the other guy straight in the face. 

“Hey, sorry about that,” Shane says, pausing to make sure he hasn’t inflicted any real damage.

“Watch where you’re going next time, saskwatch,” the man replies. He has one hand on his face, soothing the area Shane hit, but his tone of voice lets Shane know that his comeback was meant as a joke. 

They exchange a quick glance, Shane smiling out of habit, then both continue in their own directions. Shane’s still worried about stepping in a puddle as he walks the last block to the museum, but he does try to glance up every once in a while to ensure that no one’s directly in front of him. 

Despite the rain jacket and the only 5 minute walk to work, Shane finds himself practically drenched by the time he enters the Employees Only door into the museum. He shakes his rain jacket out and hangs it up on his hook, hating the way his wet chinos feel against his thighs. The warm smell of coffee hits him when he walks out of the mudroom, and Shane decides he desperately wants a coffee more than he has ever wanted anything before.

Shane’s shoes squeak as he walks on the dusty linoleum floor, following the cornered path between paper-covered desks. He follows the coffee scent to its source, and sees an electric kettle propped carefully on an otherwise empty shelf at the front of the archive storage rack. He tip toes towards it, but is caught by the keen eye of the coffee guardian. 

“Oh, Mavis, it’s lovely to see you,” Shane sing-songs to the elderly archivist, leaning his elbows down onto her desk. His greeting is met with only a bothered glance, so he tries again, voice still long and tuneful. “I hope you are having a blessed morning so far. Come across any surprising photos lately? Having fun filing?” 

“You’re not getting any coffee, because it’s for the senior staff only.” Mavis isn’t here to play. She starts leafing through a pile of papers on her desk, occasionally tabbing the corner of one.

“But Mavis, I had to walk here in the rain. I nearly trampled a guy. It’s been real tough for me.” Shane hadn’t expected to be pleading for coffee from the eldest member of the museum staff today, but he doesn’t shy away from it now. Each syllable is drawn out, and he bends his knees surreptitiously to bring his face level with hers. Shane tries to soften his brown eyes and pull a discrete puppy face as he looks longingly towards Mavis, and more importantly the coffee brewing just past her. His attempt is called off, however, by Alicia’s appearance beside him. 

“Good morning Shane. Follow me.” When Alicia’s demand is met by hesitance from Shane, she adds, “Forget about the coffee. I have something you’ll like even better.” She caps off her comment with a snap of her fingers as she puts two thumbs up. Shane can’t help but turn swiftly after her, his curiosity growing each second. 

Alicia is a PhD student at a big university downtown, and she works with the museum as their primary researcher. She lets Shane tag along, although he’s sure his bachelor’s degree level knowledge isn’t much use to her. He usually just does the easy jobs so she has more time to work on the real stuff. But Shane can’t complain - not many arts students land a job that actually uses their degree this soon out of school.

Shane follows Alicia out of the maze of desks and shelving units that most of the research staff frequent, and into the public part of the museum. The museum hasn’t opened yet, and there’s a peaceful quality to the way the grey, overcast light from outside travels through the high windows, and the echo of the rain on the roof fills up the quiet space even though no one's there to hear it. 

“Alicia, you know I love our morning walks, but pray tell where it is you’re taking me?” Shane tries. 

“You’ll see soon enough. Have patience, young padawan.” 

And soon Shane does see something, but it’s far from what he expected. Sitting in the cafeteria, all alone and looking very aware of it, is a man that Shane recognizes immediately. 

“Shane, I would like to introduce you to -”

“Sidewalk Guy!” Shane cuts Alicia off, closing in the rest of the distance to stand in front of the man. 

“What?” both the man and Alicia say. 

“I bumped into you on the sidewalk this morning! I - I bumped into him on the sidewalk on my way to work,” Shane speaks to the man at first, then turns to say it again to Alicia.  
She nods and scrunches her eyebrows together, but otherwise ignores Shane’s remark. He wonders if maybe that’s an example of his reputation for being a weirdo. After smoothing her hands down the front of her light blue khakis, Alicia steps towards the table where the man is seated. 

“Shane, this is Ryan. He has something he’d like to show you.” Alicia sits down at the table across from Sidewalk Guy, and Shane joins her. He watches closely as this guy, Ryan, pulls something small from his pocket. It’s wrapped in a square of brown cloth, which he removes with shaky fingers, as if he’s worried that whatever is hidden in there will jump out and bite him. What emerges from the cloth is a yellow-gold ring with a diamond set in the middle, carved into the band so that it’s flush. The ring is smooth at the sides and slightly graying - obviously old and well used. 

“Ryan, I don’t know what to say. I’m flattered, but we just met.” Shane says, feigned shock widening his eyes. 

“What?” Ryan yelps. It’s the first word he’s spoken since they met again in the museum, and Shane is proud that it was his doing. 

“I’m turning down your proposal.” 

“I’m not proposing, you idiot. This is a cursed ring.” 

“It’s what?” Shane crosses his arms on the table.

“Cursed! Like, inhabited by evil spirits. Brings bad voodoo. Not good.” Ryan’s exasperated, but more worryingly, he sounds completely serious. 

Alicia jumps in to add, “and you get to help Ryan figure out why! You’re first solo research case, Shane.”

“Alicia, can I talk to you for a moment? Privately?” Shane pulls a ‘this is non-negotiable’ face, and leads her just out of Ryan’s line of vision. He looks around, expecting someone to jump out and tell him this is a joke. But nothing happens. It’s just Shane, standing beside an exhibit about what the ground is like 200 feet below them, and the expectant look on Alicia’s face. 

Alicia taps her heel impatiently. “So why did you take me over here? Because I don’t think it was to say thank you, even though -” 

“You can’t be serious,” Shane says, although with each passing second he’s growing more concerned that she is. “I’m here to learn about history, and to help understand historic items. Not to conduct a ghost hunting mission for the local lunatic.” Shane thinks that this is possibly the most passionate conversation he’s ever had while whispering. 

“Of course this is serious. That is a historic object: the ring dates back to the 1920’s. And Ryan thinks it’s cursed, but you don’t have to believe him. Just look at it like you would any other relic. Goodness, Shane, I thought you would be happier about your first solo project.”

Shane huffs indignantly. “This is a crap solo project and you know it. What’s the real reason behind this?”

Alicia’s facade is failing and Shane can see it. She finally gives in and says, “the museum is tight on funds, and they were threatening to let go of some non-essential personnel…” She side-eyes Shane, now, making it obvious that ‘non-essential personnel’ includes him. “That man, Ryan, is a youtuber. He’s got a pretty large following on his channel, and he agreed to promote the museum if you research the ring for him. Shane, I didn’t want it to come to this, but you need to do this to keep your job.”

“Geeze, Barry, you should’a started with that. I would have understood,” Shane’s hobbies include making light of tense situations. He smiles pleasantly at his mentor. When Shane drops back into the seat across from Ryan, it’s with a completely different attitude. He repeats the pleasant smile to Ryan, and cocks his head to the side in what he hopes is seen as a friendly gesture. He can hear the click of Alicia’s footsteps receding back towards the research rooms.

“Sorry about that. My associate and I were just discussing terms. I would love to help you learn more about the ring, if you’re still good to go.”

Ryan nods, his dark hair bouncing on top of his head, and Shane slides his hand out across the table. 

“Okay, first things first, let me have a look.” 

“But don’t you want to hear what I know about it first? It’s pretty dangerous, you might not want to just reach out and touch it.” Ryan pulls his hand back a little, the thin cloth still protecting the ring from touching his skin.

“Let me see the ring, Ry-guy.” 

And now here’s the thing you should have known from the beginning. There’s a reason why Shane is extraordinary at what he does. His research skills are phenomenal - once he has an object in his hands, it only takes him a matter of minutes to gather enough information to tell you the last place the object was, or to describe the last person who held it. His skills have propelled him far, leading him to be every research professor’s right hand man in university, and granting him this job in the museum. Everyone’s been jealous of Shane at some point. He repeatedly gets the job done quicker and better and with a zero percent error margin. Shane’s talent is too good to be true. It really is too good to be true. 

Because Shane has a secret, and he’s about to use it on Ryan’s supposedly cursed ring. 

Shane’s utilizes the full length of his arm and is able to claw the ring away from Ryan. The second his fingers touch the cold band, he feels something forceful begin to push itself into his mind. It’s like a memory, but it isn’t Shane’s memory; every time he touches a historic object, anything with a story behind it, this happens. A piece of the story crawls inside Shane’s head and makes a home for itself. Shane doesn’t believe in psychics, superpowers, or anything supernatural, but he can’t deny that whatever it is that helps him understand the history behind these relics isn’t a force that he controls himself. It’s more as if the story behind the object wants to be known, and it uses Shane as a mouthpiece. 

The object always chooses what part Shane gets to see, and he has to make do with however little or much he gets. Most of the time it’s just a flash of an image: a scenario, a look at the scenery, the back of a head. Sometimes it’s more, like hearing a short conversation between two people or watching an event take place. 

When Shane touches the ring, pulls it right close to his chest, closes his eyes, it’s different from any other time. When Shane touches the ring, all he feels is paralyzing fear. All he hears is dead silence. All he sees is pitch black. Shane throws the ring onto the table and pushes off of the bench.

“There’s something wrong with that thing!” He hears his voice tremble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could the ring really be cursed? ... 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr infinate-sky


	3. The Waitress is Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing is... blah. So I apologize for any mistakes. ((how does one get a beta??))
> 
> The boys are at it again, ft. blanket capes, expensive suits, and pizza lunches. 
> 
> Have fun!

“I know there’s something wrong with it,” Ryan confirms. He glances between Shane and the ring, which is still twirling from the force with which Shane threw it at the table. “Like I told you, it’s cursed.” 

Shane doesn’t believe in curses, but this time he doesn’t argue. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his key ring. To avoid touching the ring again, he hooks a key through the center of it and holds it up like that, wondering briefly what Alicia would say if she saw him treating the object with such disregard. 

“Well, Ryan, whatever the case, you’ve sure got a heck of a ring here,” Shane gives Ryan and over-exaggerated wink. “Alright, so how this works is that I’m gonna take this back to the archives, look through every paper I can find on ‘creepy old rings’, then I’ll give you a call when I find something. Cool?” 

“Oh, actually, I started researching it already. I thought we could continue together. It’ll go faster with two people, and I… I’m really invested in this thing. I'm actually good at research.” 

“Well that’s not how we usually do it. I’m not sure if you’re even allowed back there -” Shane finds himself unable to give Ryan a straight up ‘no’. 

Ryan stands up to be eye level (or as close to eye level as possible), with Shane. He looks at Shane pleadingly, his dark eyes shining, and Shane knows that this is karma coming back to bite him, because it’s the exact same look that Shane tried on Mavis to get coffee earlier. Except Mavis didn’t give in. Shane bites the insides of his cheeks and shakes his head slightly at himself, but when he walks away it’s after motioning for Ryan to follow him. 

-

Ryan and Shane have taken over the Earth and Oceans Research desk. Where there used to be pictures of rare plants and diagrams of rising ocean levels there now sits an unreadable amount of historic papers on everything from the history of promise rings in america to the most recent cursed object findings. While Shane has no idea how to use the information that the ring presented him with, it does add some urgency to his searching.

It’s been nearly a full day of research, and Shane feels at the same time too tired to keep his eyes open and too alive to keep sitting still. He and Ryan have barely spoken a word the entire time, both too entranced in finding anything possibly related to the ring that keeps its place on the center of the table. The ring is back on the brown cloth, and still hooked by Shane’s key ring. Neither person wants to touch it, but both find it a good reminder of why they are devoting an entire Monday to reading things like newspaper clippings from September 5, 1922. 

On her way out the door, Mavis passes by their desk to drop a cup of coffee off in front of Ryan. 

“Mavis! That’s not fair.” Shane wines. 

“He looks cold. Also, he’s a guest. I have to see your face nearly every single day,” Mavis says unwaveringly. 

“I’m cold too!” Shane says, but Mavis has already walked away. For an old lady, she sure can move. 

Ryan raises his eyes from what he was reading, and pushes the cup towards Shane with the tips of his fingers. “If you want, you can have this. I’ll never be able to sleep if I drink coffee right now.”

Shane is surprised by the gesture. “No, thanks but Mavis would kill me. It’s yours.” Shane thinks for a moment, and smiles when he remembers something he saw in the mudroom closet the other day. “I am cold though. I’ll be right back.”

Shane skips away from their table, and waves sweetly to Mavis when he passes her desk. Once back in the mudroom where his rain jacket is still hung on its hook, he reaches his hand into the deep, dark linen closet and feels around with his fingers. He grabs onto and pulls out a soft white blanket. It’s plush and looks nearly new - Shane assumes it was used to transport something breakable to the museum. Whatever the case, no one’s using it now.

He wraps it around his shoulders and returns triumphantly to his and Ryan’s desk. Ryan glances at Shane as he sits back down, and does a double take.

“What’s that for?”

“It’s my cape. I’m method researching.”

“They didn’t wear capes in the - . You know what, it doesn’t matter. While you were off playing dress up with a blanket, I found us a lead.” Ryan holds up a piece of paper for Shane to look at. His face is alight with excitement. “I had the diamond on the ring examined by a jeweler back when I first got it, and they gave me the serial number that it’s engraved with. I couldn’t find anything with it, I guess it wasn’t properly recorded, or the papers were lost, but I just found a list of diamonds sold from this little jewelry place back in 1923, and the same number is listed! I couldn’t believe it. Look!” He shows Shane where to look by jabbing his pointer finger into the center of the page.

“Ok, that’s great. What do you know about the store?” Shane’s happy about the new development, really, he is, but the value of this discovery depends entirely on whether or not they have enough info on the store itself. He takes the paper from Ryan with the hand that isn’t holding his blanket cape together, and scans over it. 

“I know that the store was located in New York,” Ryan offers.

“So the next step is to -”

“Hop on a plane,” Ryan says as if it’s obvious. Shane almost breaks with neck with the speed that he snaps it up to look at Ryan. 

“You’re crazy. There’s no way they let us do that.”

-

Ryan and Shane are going to New York. 

Shane stands outside of an apartment complex on the outskirts of downtown LA. It’s a nice building, way nicer than his own. It took him twenty minutes to get here by bus, and he's worried he'll be late. There’s a lobby with a front desk and fresh flowers and big glass windows through which Shane can see a pool. Maybe he got the wrong address from Ryan. As he walks into the building, Shane checks the sign over the front desk and compares it to Ryan’s text message: Burton Apartments, 8665 Burton Way. It’s the right place. He’s waiting for Ryan to meet him, because somehow they are about to get on a plane to New York. It’s been entirely funded by Ryan and his Youtube career, which Shane feels ancient for not understanding. Online videos that can pay for tickets and hotels? Seems unrealistic, and yet here he is.

Shane knows he looks terribly out of place as soon as he walks into the lobby. He pulls absentmindedly at the collar of his polka-dot button up and tries to avoid eye contact as he finds himself a place to sit, which turns out to be on an overstuffed blue couch facing the elevator. His suitcase is small and tattered; he can’t remember the last time he used it. He sits on top of his lap, which is about as awkward as it sounds, but he’s made his choice and must stand by it. Shane fidgets with the zipper of his suitcase as he watches the elevator doors continuously bring people to and from the ground floor. Each time the door opens, he hopes to see Ryan, even if just to confirm that he’s where he's supposed to be. 

Three people are on the elevator the next time it dings open. A mom and her young son step off first, and Shane can hear the mom say something about going swimming after lunch. The third person Shane doesn’t spare much of a glance - he’s some business man, judging from his grey three piece suit. He’s too busy looking at his phone to lift his head as he steps off the elevator, and all Shane can see is the top of his dark hair. Shane looks away, back to his watch; it’s three minutes later than they had agreed on. He checks his text messages, head bent down to see the screen, and considers texting Ryan but doesn’t go through with it. He decides to wait for a few more minutes, and then chalk this up to a funny story to tell at work if it doesn’t pan out. The idea of travelling to New York with a stranger was a fun one to entertain, but not to much of a surprise to be untrue. 

He sees the shoes first, because of the way his vision is pointed. They are black and shiny; they look incredibly uncomfortable. Shane scans his eyes up, following the lines of the grey three piece suit until he gets to the man’s face. Ryan is nearly unrecognizable from the last time Shane saw him. Shane is at once surprised, relieved, and confused. 

“I didn’t know I was here to meet James Bond,” Shane says automatically.

“Got to look good for those ghosts,” Ryan responds, quick to join in on the banter. 

Shane may be out of place here, but he refuses to feel under-dressed for the airport. “You know we’re about to get on a plane though, right?” 

“What else would I be doing with this?” Ryan motions to his suitcase, a hard black shell about three times the size of Shane’s.

“I could fit my whole house in there,” Shane muses as he stands up. He’s happy to remind himself how much taller than Ryan he is. 

“It’s for the camera gear.” 

They leave the building with their suitcases rolling behind them, and Ryan quickly hails a taxi. Shane can’t drop the suit thing.

“Are you actually going to sit through a four hour plane ride in a blazer and those shoes?” He asks, head resting back on the headrest of the taxi seat.

Ryan rubs his hands together, then looks at his fingers as he replies, “it’s for my Youtube channel. I was sponsored by this company and they want me to wear their clothes whenever possible for the video.”

“You mean I’m gonna spend this whole thing having to watch you freak out over ghosts while wearing suits I could never afford, and we’re gonna have to film it?” 

“Um, actually,” Ryan looks quickly to Shane, then looks away again, “about the suits, they gave me a couple for you to wear, too.”

“I - how did you know my size?” Shane decides to focus on this because he doesn't want to voice any of his other questions.

“I just told them that you were seven feet tall and they seemed to know what to do.” Ryan lets out a laugh at his own joke, then bends down to dig a small camera out of his suitcase. He opens it up and films a quick shot of the taxi. 

Shane looks out the window, not sure what to say. His clothing aesthetic is pretty typical liberal arts student - jeans and chinos, sweaters and patterned button ups. He’s not sure how comfortable he’d feel in a fancy suit; he definitely wouldn’t feel like himself wearing it. He watches tall buildings and palm trees fly by his window, and tries to let to reality of the situation kick in. It’s times like these that makes Shane sad he’s a grown up (as much as he’d like to deny it, 25 is an adult by every standard). He used to get so excited by things, and he used to believe in everything - Santa, mermaids, ghosts; new beginnings, forgiveness, love. Now, Shane knows that everything they tell you as a kid is a lie, and as he sits in the back of a taxi beside a guy he hardly knows, he can’t even convince himself to be excited about a free trip across the country. He might as well just hop out and head home and go to sleep. 

The rest of the ride goes by in silence, except for the update that Ryan films for his camera. Shane watches Ryan record the same monologue twice through before he puts his head phones in, preferring the sound of his music over hearing Ryan repeat “HelloAndWelcomeToAnotherEpisodeOfRyanUnsolved” over and over. 

Ryan navigates the busy airport once they arrive, because he’s done it often enough and Shane hasn’t been on a plane since he was fifteen. They get checked in easily, Ryan stepping in front of Shane to jam his card into the machine and pay, then picking Shane’s suitcase up for him to put it onto the conveyor belt to get tagged. 

“Did you even put anything in here, man? It weighs less than my wallet.” Ryan jokes. Shane fights not to retaliate with a comment about how much money Ryan must have in there. 

Now free of luggage, Shane and Ryan wander through the vast airport to find their gate. Shane scuffs his feet along the semi-reflective floor, amusing himself. There’s a woman that they pass who has fallen asleep while sitting on the ground. Her back is propped up against the wall and her bag is clutched loosely in her arms. Shane hopes that she hasn’t missed her flight. 

It takes Shane a while to realize that Ryan still has a camera with him, and he’s using it to film the view of the airport in front of them. He’s panning it from side to side slowly, getting everything from the large windows looking out onto the runway, to all of the little restaurants and stores that they pass. When Ryan flips the camera around to get himself in the frame, Shane takes a long step to the side and out of the camera’s view. 

Ryan cuts off whatever comment he was making for the camera to speak to Shane. “Hey, get back here. You’re my special guest.”

“No thanks.” Shane says simply. 

Ryan puts the camera down and stops walking. Shane stops as well, but somewhat reluctantly. He feels very in the way of the traffic of people moving in all directs through the wide hallway. 

“Come on Shane, let’s just film a quick bit now so that we can call it good for airport footage and I can go change. There’s no way I’m actually wearing this suit on the plane.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. You film whatever you need to, I’ll stand over here, then when you’re done we can mosey our way to the nearest bathroom for you to change in.” Shane stares Ryan down as he says this, trying to make it clear that he’s serious. 

“I knew you were a weird arts student, but I wasn’t expecting you to be camera shy,” Ryan says, and it sounds almost like he’s trying to get beneath Shane’s skin. “Alright, I’ll do it myself this time, but you’ll have to join me sooner or later.” 

Shane watches Ryan compose himself then start walking again before lifting the camera back up to his face and delving into whatever it is he needs his fans to know so bad about their uneventful airport experience. Shane follows in the distance and tries to paint himself a picture of the type of man he has been stuck on this trip with, but doesn’t quite know what to make of him. Of all the mysteries Shane has seen, Ryan is the most engrossing by far. 

They end up finding a bathroom not too much later, and Ryan ducks into it to get changed. He reemerges wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts. Shane feels more comfortable immediately; informally dressed Ryan is much less intimidating than businessman Ryan. They pause to have a quick planning session against the outside wall of the bathroom. 

“So what’s the plan now, Mr. Airport Expert?” Shane asks, amused. He lifts one elbow up to put it against the wall, supporting his head with his hand.

“Hmm,” Ryan pulls his phone out of his pocket to check the time, “I think we should grab something to eat before we leave. What type of food do you like?” 

“Oh, you know. I’m a sucker for vegan mushroom-quinoa burgers, as long as they have avocado and come with iced coffee.” Shane’s says, stroking his chin as if in thought.

“Are you serious?” Ryan looks like he would rather eat anything else.

“No, I just wanted to see how far I could push the ‘weird arts student’ thing. Follow me, I think I noticed a pizza place a ways back.” Shane pushes off the wall and steps past Ryan, assuming that he'll follow behind. He finds the pizza place easily; the restaurant is fancier than Shane remembered, the lights inside are dim and the the room's decorated in shades of red and black. There’s a waitress standing outside the door, wearing a tight, dark dress, who asks Shane if he would like a table.

Shane waits for Ryan to appear beside him, then asks, “This look ok?”

“Yeah, this is great. Boy, I’m so hungry.” 

Shane turns back to the waitress and asks for a table for two, and follows her towards one tucked in the back corner of the restaurant. Shane snags the seat which faces the window, through which he can already see three planes, one taxiing to takeoff, one that just landed, and one with the walkway attached for people to walk on or off. It’s a bit like watching an ant hill, with so many people moving and working on the long stretch of pavement. Shane unfolds his red cloth napkin and places it on his lap while Ryan sits down across from him. Their table is circular and only about two feet in diameter. There’s a small candle flickering in the middle.

“This is nice and intimate,” Shane says, and he thinks he sees Ryan squirm. 

They order two pizzas to share, and Shane tries not to think too hard about how they’re going to split the bill. He discreetly slides his wallet out of his pocket to count his money when he thinks Ryan isn’t looking, and he isn’t very encouraged by his findings. 

“So how did you get into the ghost hunting business?” Shane asks, trying to distract himself from his financial situation by starting a conversation. 

“Uh, I guess it was just two of my passions that ended up coming together at the right time.” Ryan looks away as he speaks, pulls out his phone to check something. 

“A passion for making others think you’re crazy and for screaming on camera?” Shane slides his elbows forward, until they are almost at the center of their table. Ryan still doesn’t look at him.

“No, you dick. A passion for the supernatural, and for making videos. Ooh, pizza!” The waitress returns then, carrying their food. She looks at Ryan as she sets the plates down on the table, and gives him a coy smile. 

“Enjoy,” she says, still staring at Ryan. Her voice is soft and, if Shane is hearing right, on the verge of sensual. 

Once she’s walked away again, Ryan finally looks up to Shane, to say, “Our waitress is hot.”

Shane shrugs, pulling a piece of pizza onto his plate and enjoying the way that the cheese oozes over the sides. “How did you become interested in the supernatural, then?” He asks.

“I got a book as part of an undergrad class back in college. I guess I just got hooked.” Ryan says this through a mouth half full of pizza. Shane averts his eyes. 

“What college course asks you to learn about ghosts?” 

“Abnormal psychology,” Ryan says this in the same tone that a frat bro might tell his buds that he ‘got laid last night’. Shane feel a bit offended on behalf of the sanctity of scholarly education.

“Did the profs cover any actual psychology during your degree?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan’s voice has changed drastically, now quieter and standoffish.

“How don’t you know?” Shane wipes his hands off on his napkin, glances at the time on his watch.

Ryan pulls another piece of pizza onto his plate aggressively. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Look, Ry. I’ve done my fair share of higher education. If you, like, zoned out for a whole semester, I totally understand. It happens to the best of us.”

“Shut up, all high and mighty, thinking you’re better than me because you have a degree or whatever,” Ryan’s eyes are tight.

Shane is thrown off guard by Ryan’s snappy response. “I - what? No, I’m just saying that college is hard, and -”

“And I’m dumb ‘cause I couldn’t swing it?” 

“Ryan I am honest to god so confused right now,” Shane feels like he’s stepped past the line somewhere. "We don’t have to talk about this anymore, though, if you don’t want to.”

“Let’s just not talk for a while, how’s that?” Ryan seems to think that this is an acceptable way to end the conversation, as he stands up and leaves Shane’s line of sight, walking towards the exit. Shane takes a deep breath and pushes his empty plate away from himself, putting his arms back on the table so that he can put his face in his hands. College, he decides, isn’t Ryan’s favorite topic of conversation. 

He pulls out his wallet again and recounts his bills. He has two tens and one half-torn five. He has about sixty-five cents in coins. There’s no way this is going to pay for all of the meal. Shane is debating calling Ryan and telling him he has to come back and help pay when the waitress walks past the table again. 

“You’re bill’s already been paid for, sir,” She says, eyeing Shane’s money spread out over the table.

“By who?”

“You’re friend, of course.” She seems confused by the question. 

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” Shane sweeps the money back into his wallet and stands to leave. So Ryan gets angry about seemingly nothing, storms away, but pays for the bill. Shane can’t help but smile as he walks out of the restaurant and back into the harsh light of the airport. What a confusing man he seems to have befriended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think about Ryan's character so far?


	4. Yes, I'll Marry You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy October 1st. Spooky season is upon us. 
> 
> I'm a bit stressy today so my editing might be a bit rough but I think you'll enjoy this chapter. I hope so.

They meet again at the gate to their flight, about ten minutes before boarding. Shane’s been sitting here for the past half hour, playing games on his phone and fighting the urge to text Ryan. 

When he shows up, Ryan’s hair is all tousled and his t-shirt looks like it was scrunched up into a ball and then put back on.

“Where have you been? You look like you just ran a marathon,” Shane says, moving his bag off a chair so Ryan can sit down.

“The waitress had her lunch break.” Ryan says smugly, dropping into the seat beside Shane.

“Oh my god. You’re terrible.” Shane looks back to his phone. “Is this going to be a regular thing?” 

“You jealous? I can get you in on it too sometimes, if you want.”

“That is the last thing I would ever want.” Now it’s Shane’s turn to avoid Ryan’s gaze and look through his phone while they’re talking.

“Alright, bud. Suit yourself.” And Ryan sounds so cocky, but Shane doesn’t believe it. This Ryan is a completely different person than the Ryan who sat with Shane and helped research cursed rings for hours. 

“Have you found anything else on the ring since we last spoke?” Shane asks in an attempt to summon Research Ryan. 

“Just a bit. I tried to look a bit more into the jewelry store we’re visiting. I found that it’s more of a specialty clothing store now, but it still sells some jewelry, and still operates under the same name. Maybe someone there will have heard of something that can help us, I was thinking -” and Ryan spends the rest of their time until their flight telling Shane all about the different plans he has for the ring. He even brought ghost hunting equipment so that they can try to communicate with the dead.

Shane finds this hilarious and unnecessary, all the talk of special radios and motion cameras, but he doesn’t cut in to say so. Ryan’s posture has relaxed and his voice has warmed up into the passionate tone that Shane enjoys, and he doesn’t want to do anything to ruin it. He wraps up his speech when the people around them stand up to start boarding their plane.

“Ok, hang on, I wanted to ask you,” Ryan continues talking as he stands up, switching topics. He picks his backpack up off the ground and unzips the smallest pocket. “Will you watch this while we’re on the plane?”

“Watch what?” Shane is looking around, trying to find the end of the line. Where did all these people come from? He directs Ryan forwards. 

“The ring, I -” Ryan is walking slowly, eyes glued to his backpack, digging his fingers fervently through the contents of the pocket. 

Shane gives up waiting for Ryan to finish what he’s doing, and speeds things up by placing his hands on Ryan’s shoulders and guiding him towards the end of the line, which is slowly but constantly getting shorter. Ryan hardly seems to notice - he’s found what he’s looking for by the time Shane stops walking, and turns to show it to him. 

“The ring. Will you take it?”

“No. Why? No.” Shane leans backwards away from the ring slightly, still weary of it from the first time he touched it.

“I usually have it locked away at home. I don’t want it sitting beside me for a full five hours.”

“But I’ll be in the seat beside you, so it makes no difference.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Ryan pushes his hands closer towards Shane. The ring is still wrapped up in the brown cloth, but that doesn’t make it any less real. “I don’t want it to be in my bag, or on my person for that long. What if I get cursed by proximity!”

“Oh, but it’s fine if I get cursed.” Shane takes a step forward with the rest of the line.

“Come on, I know you don’t believe in the curse.”

Shane shakes his head.

“Please?” Ryan tries, and Shane considers that this is the first time he’s heard Ryan desperate enough for something to say please. 

“I’m serious: It won’t make any difference to you if the ring is in your bag or in my pocket. It’s your ring, you take care of it. I’m just here to help with research, remember?”

“You’re here for all sorts of reasons,” Ryan says, sounding defeated. 

Shane assumes that Ryan has given up and decided to keep the ring; they make it to the front of the line without another word on it. Shane watches Ryan show his ticket and get let past the flight attendant towards the plane, and follows after him. It’s when Shane's busy stuffing his id back into his wallet that Ryan springs on him: Ryan has the ring in one hand, and he grabs Shane’s fingers in his other. He’s pushed the ring onto Shane's bony pointer finger before Shane realizes what’s going on. By then it’s too late. Shane’s vision begins to go foggy as the ring takes control of his mind. If Ryan’s speaking to him, Shane doesn’t register it. He faintly feels pressure against his arm, and thinks maybe someone is breathing against his ear. All he hears is dead silence. All he sees is pitch black. 

Three flight attendants are gathered around Shane in various states of panic when he regains his mind to himself. The ring is still on his finger, but it seems to have let him go for now. Ryan’s standing off to the side, leaning back against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself. He looks scared and disoriented: about the same as Shane feels. Shane should shoot Ryan an annoyed glance, but he can’t do it. What he really wants to do is walk over and give Ryan a hug.

Shane assures the flight attendants that he’s ok, it's just a bit of pre-flight anxiety. Tells them he hasn’t been on a plane since he was young, watched too many plane crash movies. Whatever they need to hear to let him go. Once they do, he marches towards Ryan and grabs him by the elbow, secure but gently. 

“Ryan, next time, realize that no means no,”

“Ok, I’m sor- Wait, what was that? Wha-” For the second time in ten minutes, Ryan lets Shane direct him where to walk. They stumble together through the long, dark hallway over the runway to reach the plane. It’s empty of anyone else, and Shane wonders if his episode delayed the plane leaving. 

“Not right now. All we’re doing right now is getting on the plane,” Shane’s words are choppy and uneven. He’s struggling to pull the still shaky Ryan along at a brisk pace, while fighting desperately to keep control of his brain. He can feel the power of the ring pushing against his walls, trying to break back in. It has more to say. 

Everyone is already seated when Shane pulls Ryan over the threshold and onto the plane. This is helpful because it means that no one’s blocking the aisle. Their seats are near the back, and Ryan still seems unable to function properly, so Shane awkwardly side-steps his way to seats 29 A and B, one hand holding his ticket up in front of him to match the correct seat, and the other hand clasped onto Ryan’s bicep and pulling him along. Why, oh why does Ryan’s arm need to have that much muscle? 

Shane falls heavily into his seat as soon as they arrive, desperately glad to have that ordeal over with. He watches Ryan slide into the seat beside him, and wonders why Ryan gets to seem so out of it if it was Shane who just had an episode in the middle of the airport.

Shane feels the ring like electricity around his finger. He holds his hand out in front of his face, examining the damage. It’s pushed down low past his knuckle, but Shane has hope that it’ll come off if he just - As soon as Shane connects more skin to the ring by putting other fingers on it to pull it off, the strength of the ring multiplies. It hurts worse than his arm did that one time he fell off his bike and broke it as a kid. Shane grimaces and lets go of the ring, shaking both hands out. He wants to try again, but it’s too late.

Shane leans his head back against the headrest, hoping that if he looks like he’s fallen asleep no one will question what’s going on. The closing of his eyes is that last thing that he has time to do before he loses control.. 

The ring pulls him back into the pitch black, a dark so thick it seeps into all the corners and crevices of Shane’s mind. He could be in a room as big as a football field, or as small as a broom closet. He has no idea what the ring is trying to show him. He’s felt a lot of things about how he gets these visions, but this is the first time Shane’s felt completely lost. 

He can hear something this time. It’s ragged breathing, like someone’s trying to breathe quietly but is failing. The sound's close to Shane’s ear, slightly below, but there’s no one there when he looks down. It’s a sound seeping through the darkness. 

The plane, and everyone who was on it, is gone to Shane in this moment. He completely forgets where he actually is, and begins to move about the darkness like it’s his new home. He’s standing. He takes a step forward, or maybe it was backwards. He lifts his arms and moves them around, and one hand bumps up against the cold metal side of something. It feels like a wall, but there are contours and bumps that his hand slides over. Keeping one hand pressed against the object so that he doesn’t lose it, Shane takes a step closer. He still can’t see anything but all consuming darkness, which seems to have taken shape of the thing in front of him. 

With both hands now scanning along the hard surface, Shane begins to recognize the shape. It feels like a car door, except without an automatic window-down button or easy to pull handle. But there was something - Shane slides his hands back towards one side where he remembers feeling a sort of out-jutting part. He finds it, wraps both hands around it, and pulls with all his might, 

Nothing happens. 

Shane lifts one foot up to jam it against the door. His foot moves slowly as if he’s pulling it through water. He uses his foot as extra strength, wraps his hands again around the vertical lever, and pushes strong enough to expel all the air from his lungs. The thing slightly budges. The breathing coming from somewhere behind him continues to beat against his ears in uneven spurts. He doesn’t want to know what he’s trapped in this darkness with, because the breathing sounds nearly too strained to be human. 

Shane balls one hand into a fist and pounds it into the metal wall. He wants to scream with frustration. He tries one more time, spreads his fingers out over the handle, feels a small circle on the top corner that seems to cave in when he applies pressure. With a new eagerness, Shane pushes out on the metal while pushing down with his thumb. Everything is stiff and stubborn, but Shane’s using all the strength he has in his long body, and finally the door swings open. Shane follows after it, and falls out the door, landing on wet concrete, 

Someone is screaming. It’s a shrill sound that digs its way right into Shane’s ears and finds a spot in there to begin drilling. Shane clamps both hands over his ears and tries to stand up, but is disoriented by the lights around him. The world is still dark in flashes, but it’s also red and blue in flashes, like a rotating spotlight intent on making him lose his mind. He’s fairly certain it’s raining, because his hair’s getting wet, and the lights capture streaks and drops coming down. A loud sound like thunder flashes by him, followed by two circular yellow lights. Is he sitting in the middle of a road? He hears footsteps hurry towards him. This new person starts screaming as well, and his hands around his ears aren’t doing anything to help. The darkness contrasts the lights terribly. Painfully. His eyes are wide open and all he can think of is staring directly into the sun. 

There’s more screaming. Everything is emitting noise of some sort - the rain is coming down like harsh drumming, the lights are wailing, in the distance he can hear birds, like gulls, crying into the night. Shane begins to scream, to maybe drown some of the noise out with his own. He’s about to explode. 

The serenity of the airplane is nearly just as striking in contrast when Shane opens his eyes once more to the real world. He lifts one hand to his mouth, his freezing fingers curling around his chin and squeezing his face to make sure it’s still there. Slowly, because doing anything fast seems like too much right now, Shane turns to face Ryan. His eyes take in the scene around him as he turns his head: white walls, circular windows looking out to the blue sky, grey seats stretching out in front of his. Yellow lights that softly illuminate Ryan’s face. 

Ryan’s staring at Shane like he just witnessed a murder. 

“Am I -” Shane starts meekly. 

“What the hell, man?” Ryan asks, voice tight. His eyes are wide open and searching Shane’s face for an explanation. 

“Was I - Was I screaming out loud?” Shane’s shaken; he’s never become completely lost to an object before. 

“No, but I’m about to. Go get it, man! What the fuck?” Ryan is obviously not happy. Shane just has to find out why. 

“Go get… what?” Shane tries to say this as gently as possible. 

“Oh my God are you actually stupid? The ring! Go get the ring!” Ryan gestures wildly towards the front of the plane. “Or are we just going to pretend like you didn’t decide to throw it forward like a quarterback throwing a Hail Mary?”

“I… threw the ring?” Shane looks down and sure enough, the ring is no longer on his finger. So that’s why he suddenly regained consciousness. “Where did I throw it?” Shane asks slowly. 

“That. Way.” Ryan’s shaking his head, one hand held up and pointing towards the seat in front of them. “About five seats forward.” 

Shane stands up and side-steps past Ryan’s aisle seat to get the ring back. He pulls his sleeve down over his palm as he walks; there’s no way he’s touching that thing again any time soon. 

He counts the rows of seats as he passes. Row number five in comprised of an old lady who seems to have fallen asleep against the window, and two young women looking through the same magazine. 

“Excuse me ladies, I hate to bother you, but I think I may have accidentally thrown my ring over here.” Shane smiles in what he hopes looks like someone who made a silly mistake and not someone who is on the verge of a breakdown. 

The two women lift their heads to look at him. The one in the aisle seat dog ears the magazine then flips it closed. “Well what kind of ring are we looking for?” She bends down towards the ground, feeling around for the ring. Her friend joins her, hopping off her seat to check underneath it. 

Shane’s surprised by their eagerness to help. “Well, it’s got a gold band and a little diamond…” 

“Like this?” The other woman holds her hand forward towards Shane, and clasped between two of her fingers is that damned ring. 

“Yes! That’s the one, thank you so mu-” Shane leans in to take the ring, but the woman with the magazine beats him to it. 

“Ooh, this is so nice! It looks like real gold,” she gushes, now cupping the ring in her hand.

“It is! And that diamond…” Her friends agrees. 

“Is this yours?” 

“No, my friend just gave it to me to-” Shane motions towards Ryan out of habit, and both girls turn their heads to see. 

“Oh my gosh. He proposed to you?” Magazine Girl asks, but it comes out so fast that it’s more like ‘ohmygoshhePROPOSEDtoyou?’ and all of a sudden all eyes are on Shane. Shane and that damned ring. 

“No it’s not. I-”

“That’s so sweet!” The friend says, voice squeaky. 

“A proposal 6 miles up.” 

“I hope you said yes.”

“Oh you must have. Didn’t you? You must have.” Magazine Girl starts clapping. They both start clapping. Everyone on the plane starts clapping. Shane shoots a glance at Ryan, who is making the most comically over the top ‘what did you do?’ face that it almost makes it worth it. Almost. 

Shane shrugs and yells across to Ryan, because the damage has already been done, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Ttyl. 
> 
> xxx


	5. Don't Go In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues! Ft. 'actual frickin New York', more of Ryan's fancy suits, and high class snobbery. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Ryan and Shane stumble out of the airport surrounded by a hoard of girls all interested in flying back to LA for their wedding. Shane is having a blast. Ryan looks like he would appreciate the ability to disappear or perhaps to drop dead. 

Ryan ends up shoving Shane backwards into a taxi and throwing their suitcases in after him. 

“Oh Ryan, the way you did that, they probably all think that we’re about to make out,” Shane says in the same tone he would use to talk to a little kid. 

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan’s face is red and he’s very blatantly avoiding looking at Shane. “That was the wort fucking flight I’ve ever been on, all thanks to your spazzy hands and big, dumb mouth.”

“But we got the ring back. And everyone was so nice and encouraging.”

“You lied to every single one of them.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you, though, Ry.”

“Hmph,” Ryan replies like the fully grown adult he is. He leans forward to give directions to the driver, then turns his entire body away from Shane and acts like he isn’t there for the entirety of their drive. 

Shane, for his part, is having a ball. He watches out the window as New York - actual frickin’ New York! - passes by. The streets are crowded and the pedestrians are speed walking like their lives depend on it. He sees hot dog carts and graffiti on the side of brick buildings and huge tour buses parked in spots they shouldn’t mathematically be able to fit into. It’s an overwhelming mess of sounds and smells, and Shane falls in love with it immediately. Concrete jungle where dreams are made of, baby! 

The taxi stops outside of a hotel in the process of being renovated. Shane has to duck underneath metal bars to make it to the double glass doors. He holds the door open for Ryan behind him, and stops once inside, unsure of where to go. The lobby is small and crowded with a class of French speaking high school students. Their colourful suitcases are stacked up against a wall, blocking out an entire quarter of the room. Ryan pushes his way through to the front desk, demanding attention in the way he stands, feet slightly parted and shoulders drawn down, highlighting his collar bones and the fine muscles in his neck. 

They are given two key cards and a staff member to personally guide Ryan onto the elevator so that he doesn’t have to wait for the entire French class to make it down first. Shane follows behind like a nervous pet. For what it’s worth, Ryan really knows how to play up the ‘Youtube celebrity’ act when he has to. Too bad they don’t have any red carpet or fancy cocktail party to attend. They step off the elevator and onto the 18th floor.

Ryan pushes the key card into their door and watches the light flash green, then takes the card out too slowly so it re-locks before he can turn the handle. This happens three more times until Shane jumps in front and does it himself.

“It’s all in the wrist,” Shane says jokingly, stepping into the room after opening the door on his first try. 

“Ok, yeah. Don’t think I’ve forgot about the plane ride just because you have the magic touch when it comes to hotel doors.”

But Shane isn’t listening. He’s too busy taking in their new space. Two double beds are pushed up against the longest wall, with two floor lamps and bedside tables sitting between them. A window stretches against the wall opposite the door, and the view is very unremarkably another building with its own windows that are looking at them. There’s a tv and a mini fridge and a bathroom tucked into the corner. The floor is a grey-orange rug and the lights are dull and humming. Everything smells exactly like a hotel always smells: artificially clean, stale air that’s been breathed in and out by too many people. 

“This is perfect,” Shane says happily, throwing his suitcase and key card onto the only chair. 

“Stop, come back,” Ryan says, and Shane would have ignored him, except Ryan’s voice is cold and serious and he’s frozen just one foot in the door. “Someone’s been in here.”

“Well yeah, that’s how hotels work,” Shane says. He’s taken a few steps back towards Ryan, but is still standing very much in the room. The fan kicks on and their standoff is given the rumbling sound track of strained hotel air moving through the vent above them. 

“No, I mean someone was here who wasn’t supposed to be.” Ryan’s eyes are wide open and staring at the farther bed.

“How can you tell?” Shane follows his gaze but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. 

“The door. When we got here. And look at the lamp, no, that one.” Ryan’s pointing his finger authoritatively, but Shane has no idea what he’s trying to show. 

“Ok, I’m still confused. Is this another one of your irrational fears? Ghosts, curses and people who break into hotel rooms?”

“No, I - This has happened to me before.” Ryan’s voice tapers off towards the end. 

“Dangerous lifestyle, being a Youtuber, huh?” Shane’s trying to break some of the tension, but finally he feels a touch of fear. He takes a step towards the door just in time for Ryan to grab his arm and yank him the rest of the way out. 

“Just give me a second to make sure that nothing harmful was left behind,” Ryan says, punctuating his sentence with the door slammed in Shane’s face. 

Shane, now locked out of the hotel room and baffled as to why, spins around and leans his back against the wall. He can hear Ryan moving about inside, unzipping things and moving things around. Shane’s too tired to be concerned - the airplane ride made him feel grimy and woozy; he wants to have a shower and sleep it off. Ryan can be paranoid all he wants, as long as he lets Shane back into the room in the next few minutes. 

Anyways, Shane’s not convinced that Ryan hasn’t just made this whole intruder thing up. Maybe the little guy just really need a minute or two alone. Maybe he’s jacking off. Shane snickers a bit and rolls his shoulders back, trying to relax into the new circumstances. He pulls his phone out of his pocket to check if there’s free hotel WiFi. 

The door is pulled open by Ryan’s tentative hand while Shane is making his third attempt to guess the WiFi code. 

“We all good to go, detective?” Shane asks looping his thumbs through his belt loops like some sort of wannabe cowboy. 

“As far as I can tell.” Ryan steps aside to let Shane through the door, but he’s slightly paler than normal and his pupils are dilated. Shane puts a hand on Ryan’s shoulder as he steps by him, and gives his new friend a questioning look, which Ryan ducks away from. 

Shane reunites with his suitcase and zips it open, revealing his sloppily folded clothes and the random bathroom objects - toothbrush but no toothpaste, broken old comb, half full bottle of shampoo - that he remembered to bring. 

“We’re gonna be here for a week, might as well settle in. You wanna split the drawers and the closet?” Shane takes a second to scope out the storage space they were given. 

“Alright. I want the top drawer.” 

Shane turns the volume up on his phone and plays some music while they unpack. He flicks his gaze towards Ryan each time a new song starts because Ryan always makes a face depending on how much he likes the song. He might not even notice he’s doing it. Shane makes a mental note of the songs that make Ryan smile. 

Ryan approaches Shane’s side of the room carrying a small pile of suit jackets and pants when they're half way through Taylor Swift’s ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’. 

“They’re yours, if you want them. It would make the brand happy if you would wear them.” 

Shane looks up from his shirt he was struggling to hang up to meet Ryan’s uncertain gaze. “Would it make you happy if I wore them?” He asks.

“I don’t know, man. Just -” Ryan turns his hands and shoves the clothing against Shane’s chest. “Just take them. Do whatever you want.” He moves his hands away, and the expensive suits almost fall to the ground. Ryan pretends not to notice when Shane has to drop his own shirt and the hanger so that he can save the suits. 

The material of the expensive clothes, no matter how much Shane despises them by principal, is smooth and cool against his fingers. He has half a mind to put a suit on right now, although he’s not sure if that would spite Ryan or please him. 

Shane hides the pile of dress clothes underneath his worn out jeans and pyjama pants. He hasn’t yet decided if he’ll ever take them out. 

Ryan hangs his own suits up at the front of the closet as if they’re on display. He also puts his designer sunglasses on the visible side of the counter and leaves his fancy camera dangling by its strap off one of the bed posts. Shane finds this odd; if he was actually worried about someone in their room, why would he leave everything out like that?

Unless maybe his possessions aren't what he's worried about losing.

-

Shane’s one step out of the hotel doors when he considers that maybe they made the wrong decision to walk. He and Ryan are on their way to the jewelry store that Ryan’s convinced will have some sort of knowledge about the ring, and since it’s only three blocks away, they’re getting there 

The streets are hot; the concrete encircling them contains all of the sun’s heat and makes the mid-October day feel like the armpit of summer. 

Shane is jostled out of the way by a rowdy group of young boys carrying sodas and hot dogs, then is pushed back the other way in only a slightly more efficient manner when a man wearing a black suit speeds past him speaking angrily into a mouthpiece. 

He re-centers himself on the sidewalk, then takes a few steps forward to rejoin Ryan, who seems to have missed any near-collisions and is doing just fine. Maybe it's because he looks less like a tourist than Shane does, with his slicked up hair and confident walk. 

Shane’s feet are sore in his old converse, and he’s still feeling drained from their long day of travel. It’s hard to enjoy a walk through New York when your tour guide is walking faster than his little legs should be able to take him. 

They pass by a street cart selling bagels and Shane trips over his own feet in an attempt to stop moving to look at the cart while also continuing to walk forward in time with Ryan.

“Ryan, it’s just like the stereotype. We have to get one.” Shane says excitedly.

Ryan’s hard expression isn’t being changed by Shane’s pleading eyes. “We’re already five minutes behind schedule. I’m paying for us to research a ring, not eat street food.”

“You suck,” Answers Shane. “Luckily, I’m a fully grown man and I don’t actually need your permission to buy myself a New York bagel.” Shane stuffs his hand into his pocket and pulls a five out of his wallet. It’s quickly exchanged for a still-warm bagel wrapped in a paper napkin. Ryan rolls his eyes and begins walking away before Shane can take his first bite, causing Shane to dodge pedestrians while chasing after Ryan with a bagel in one hand and a still half open wallet in the other. It’s more like a scene from a comedy than Shane would care to admit.

They don’t find the old-timely cute boutique store that Shane had been picturing. When they make it to the jewelry shop, it becomes clear that ‘high end fashion store in the cushy part of the city’ is a more accurate title. They’re greeted by a young woman dressed in a tight emerald skirt as soon as they pull the big glass doors open. She smiles at them in a venomous way and invites them to ask her assistance if they need anything. Shane concludes that he will definitely not do that for fear that he would mispronounce the name of some designer brand and she would bite his head off or have him kicked out of the store. 

The high ceilings, diamond chandeliers, background classy music and the state of all the other customers milling about are just a few of the things that convince Shane he’s out of his depth. Ryan, on the other hand, seems to be in his element, although Shane’s starting to believe that Ryan isn't the best at gauging the mood of a room. He’s pulled out what looks like a mini microphone, and is now wearing earbuds attached to it via a thin black cord. 

Ryan’s trying to ghost hunt in the middle of a high class clothing store. 

“Ryan, bud. What cha’ up to, there?” Shane asks, keeping it casual.

“This is a sound recorder that can pick up noises better than human ears. If a ghost is trying to communicate, it’ll be easier to hear it.” Ryan seems unfazed by Shane’s question.

“Do you - Do you think that there are ghosts trying to communicate with you right now?” Maybe what Ryan really needs is a psychologist’s evaluation. 

“Well, we’re in the place where the ring came from, aren’t we? I’m just being cautious. Don’t want to miss anything.” Ryan pulls one ear bud out as they approach a glass showcase where the store’s limited selection of diamonds and jewels are being sold by a girl who looks nearly identical to the other employees. The same long, styled hair, and the same smug expression. 

“Hi. I’m Ryan,” Ryan says to the girl, plunking his ghost microphone down onto the counter.

“Okay?” The employee answers, pulling her eyebrows together into a judging line.

“I called this store about a week ago and asked about a certain ring.” 

“Was it Swarovski?” 

“No it was...Uh,” Ryan’s confidence seems to be wavering. 

Shane jumps in to help, despite everything in his body telling him to use this as an opportunity to leave the stuffy store. “It was an antique ring sold from this location back in 1920. We were wondering if there’s any information on it that you could share with us.”

“Do you have the ring?” The girl takes a step sideways to type a few letters into her computer. She holds out her hand towards Shane without looking away from her screen. “I’ll need to take a look.”

Ryan digs around in his backpack and finds the ring. He unwraps it carefully and places it between the store clerk’s manicured fingernails. 

Shane watches through half-focused eyes as the girls spins the ring around to take a look. She’s not going to find anything. Somehow, Shane knows that she won’t be able to help them. 

His vision has caved in and he’s scared that soon it’ll be all black. The ring isn’t even touching him and yet it’s reaching out to take control of his mind. Shane squeezes Ryan’s bicep and mutters, “Not here,” which isn’t enough to make Ryan understand.

Ryan brushes Shane away and leans onto the counter, firing questions off at the girl. She doesn’t know anything. She wont be able to help them. The voices of Ryan and the girl, and the rest of the store, muddle together until Shane can’t make out anything except for the movement of his blood through his veins.

He's shown an old fashioned car parked on the curb of a New York street and remembers his vision from the plane. A car door. A noisy road. A flip switches and Shane knows where they have to go; they found the right place but they weren’t supposed to go in.

Content that it’s passed on the information, the ring releases Shane. The harshly pretty face of the store clerk comes back into view. 

“I said here’s your ring back," the girl says, staring at him. She’s got her palm open in front of Shane, the gold circle placed neatly in the middle.

Shane doesn’t take the ring. Instead, he lets Ryan reach past him to grab it as he bolts for the exit. He hears Ryan call after him, and motions over his shoulder: follow me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far! 
> 
> xx


	6. Things Get Weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment! Ft. shared secrets, wide eyes, and free lattes. 
> 
> Have fun!

They stand with the tips of their toes hanging off the sidewalk. Shane’s looking wistfully over the road. Ryan’s eyes are glued on Shane, and each few seconds he repeats the same few words.

“Shane. What’s going on? What're we doing?”

Shane bends his knees to squat down, pressing his hand into the cement and lifting it back up to brush the fine dirt off in front of his eyes. 

“Come down here.” 

“Shane, this is crazy.”

“Says the man who was just listening for ghosts in a Gucci store.” Shane motions again for Ryan to bend down and join him on the ground.

“It wasn’t a Gucci-”

“Ryan, please. You’ll want to hear this.”

Ryan gives in and pulls his pants up from the thighs before dropping down beside Shane. 

“Ok, you’ve got me down here. What is it that made us need to leave that store, which by the way, was our only lead.” Ryan’s words are sharp and Shane knows he only has a few seconds to explain himself before Ryan decides to go back in the store without him.

He looks down at his shoes and uses one hand to pull his shoe laces tighter, before saying, “The store isn’t important -”

“Of course the store is important, that’s the whole reason we-” Ryan cuts in.

“No, no. The new store, that one we were just in,” Shane jerks his head back to point unnecessarily to the doors they just left through. “Is not important.” He shakes his head a few times while making eye contact with Ryan. 

Ryan, attention span drawing short, starts to stand up. Shane grabs his wrist and tugs him back down.

Shane continues, “You were right with the location, just not exactly. The ring may have been sold from a store there, but that’s not why it’s cursed. The important place is right here.”

“In the middle of the frickin’ road?” Ryan’s voice elevates with each word.

“I think more by the curb-”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Ryan moves to stand up, and this time he doesn’t let Shane stop him. “You’re just joking around. Making fun of me. I may believe in ghosts but I’m not gullible and I’m still going to take this investigation seriously, whether that means I do it with you or without you, I-” 

Shane stands up as well. He grabs onto Ryan’s shoulders and steps closer to him so that his words won’t be lost to the busy streets. 

“I’m being 100% serious right now and I need you to believe me. This is where it happened. I just know.” He bites his lip and looks into Ryan’s eyes, trying to see whether he’s getting through to him. “You bring all your ghost stuff and you do whatever investigating you want, this is where you’ll find them.”

“Tell me how you know that.” Ryan’s voice has changed; he’s got the expression of a little kid on Christmas. 

“I. Can’t.” Shane drops his arms. “But you’ll have to believe me anyways.” 

“Hey, I told you that I had a cursed ring. I told you I believe in ghosts and all of it. I stepped out to tell you about that, and I don’t really know anything about you.” 

“You don’t want to know this.” Shane’s never told anyone about his visions. 

“Try me.” Ryan’s jaw is set and he’s crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Not here.” 

The walk back to their hotel is much faster than their walk leaving it, and this time Shane’s taken the lead. His anxiously quick steps are working against him, however, because as much as he wants to get off of the street and back into his own space, he’s already shaking at the thought of telling someone his secret. 

For his whole life, even after he realized that he could spin this odd ability around and use it to his advantage, Shane’s been ashamed of what he can do. It’s not normal - it shouldn’t be possible. Anyone with a trustworthy sense of reality would throw him to the curb if he told them that he was given visions by the ancient objects he worked with. He wished, often, that he could just get rid of the ability, but he seemed to have no part in it. He was the chosen mouthpiece for forgotten torments, and the fact that he was a human with his own thoughts and feelings only mattered so far as to his ability to share the ancient stories with others. 

They turn the two lamps on when they get back. It’s growing dark outside, and the lamps only illuminate a small circle of the hotel room. Shane sits on his bed with his legs crossed underneath him, tugging anxiously at the hem of his t-shirt and dragging his eyes across the shapes he can still make out in the dark corners of the room.

Ryan paces the floor in front of the beds, but he breaks the silence after only a few laps. 

“We’re alone now. I’d like to hear why you made us leave that store so fast.”

“We weren’t going to get any information out of there anyways,” Shane replies quickly, tiptoeing around what Ryan’s really asking. 

“Yes we were! Well, we did. She gave us the name of the man who bought it, don’t you remember?” 

That must have been while Shane was busy dealing with the new information the ring was giving him. “I didn’t hear that part...” He mumbled.

“Shit excuse. Is that all you have to say?” Ryan’s stopped walking and now stands facing Shane with his hands on his hips. His face is lit from the side by the lamps, making his angered expression appear even more hostile. 

“No, I-” Shane struggles to find the right words. “I have a very reliable reason to believe that the ring’s association with the store is less important than whatever happened to it on the curb in front.” 

“...And that reason is?” Ryan prompts, stepping up close to Shane. 

Shane takes a deep breath, preparing to jump off the cliff. “I was told… by the ring.” 

Ryan throws his hands down and lets out a bark of laughter. Shane falls backwards to lie on the bed. 

“You said you would believe me.” He feels betrayed, but not by Ryan. Shane made an agreement with himself to never tell the secret, and now he has to reap what he’s sown. 

“I’ll believe you when you tell the truth! You’re messing with me, and there’s no way I’m that gullible.”

“You seem to think I’m always looking for an opportunity to make fun of you, and maybe that’s because people have before, but I’m not going to, and I’m not now. I promise.” Shane says to the ceiling. 

“Ok, alright.” Ryan sits down on his own bed to face Shane. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I told you already.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that the ring told you about the store. But that makes no fucking sense, so try again with a few more words.” He’s smiling, which confuses Shane, but also helps him feel comfortable enough to elaborate. He tells Ryan all he can properly articulate about his strange skill, ending with the scene that took place inside his head at the jewelry counter. He avoids Ryan’s eyes throughout most of the story, and when Shane looks back towards him at the end, he’s surprised to find Ryan’s face an expression of glee. 

“Man, that is so frickin’ cool. You held that back from me this whole time?!” Ryan’s words are buzzing with excitement, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. 

Shane shrugs his shoulders. He feels like he has all those times he had to tell someone about his sexuality. He’s opened a new door for Ryan to see inside of him, and there’s no closing it; however Ryan chooses to react now will shape the rest of their relationship.

So far, it appears that Ryan’s take on this new information is that Shane can be used as some sort of fancy gadget, because he has started to assemble a cluster of objects on the bed beside Shane, with the request that Shane uses his ‘powers’ to see what they’ll say. 

Shane gives in and tries out a couple. 

“Ryan, these are a pair of your socks that you bought from Target, which I know because the tag is still attached. There’s no way that anything ghost worthy has happened to them.” Shane says exasperatedly after a few failed attempts. “Actually, none of these are sharing anything with me. How about we stop now and I let you come with me once to the museum when we get back to LA.”

Ryan pauses where he was digging through a drawer, probably looking for another useless thing for Shane to put his hand on. 

“Or…” He says, and Shane can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s not going to like whatever Ryan says next. “Or we could try again with something we know works.”

“I’m not touching the ring again until I need to. I told you how much control it has.” Shane wants to stop talking here, but Ryan has already got his bag out to find the ring, so Shane continues. “I’m - I’m scared that one time it just won’t let go of me.”

This brings Ryan to a halt. ”Wait, you never said that that was a part of this.”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s never been a problem before, but the objects also have never been able to get inside my mind without contact before, so I- I don’t know. Nothing’s off the table, I guess.” Shane thinks about everything while he watches Ryan painstakingly put away all his possessions. He sighs, runs his hand through his dirty hair, and slowly adds on another thought. “It’s almost like there’s something more to the ring, because I don’t think it’s me that’s making the difference this time. Something stronger about the ring, or something around it that’s… magnifying its strength. “

There’s something in Shane’s words that causes Ryan’s head to snap back and his face to turn violently towards Shane. His movements are now rigid where seconds before they were calm; meaningful where they were careless. 

“There’s nothing here that has any influence over your powers.” Ryan’s voice has plunged down. It’s deep and growling. 

“I wasn’t saying there was,” Shane replies, tone soft like he’s trying to appease a wild animal. There’s a part of his mind that’s convinced he is. “Ryan, what’s the matter?”

The man staring at him from Ryan’s side of the room has lost all resemblance to Ryan in everything he’s doing - it’s posture, voice, expression - none of it bears any similarity to the person Shane was just talking to, except for the fact that it’s still Ryan’s body who is standing there, still his tan face the face of this monster. 

Shane doesn’t believe in ghosts or demons, but he sure as hell needs to figure out what drugs someone slipped him, because there’s no way this is still a normal conversation. 

“Hey, uh, Ryan, you seem to be going through something right now, so I’m just going to step outside for a few minutes. Call me if you sort yourself out before I get back.” Shane pretends to tip an imaginary hat and snags his key card before booking it out the door. 

“What. The hell. WHAT THE HELL!” Shane says while waiting for the elevator to get to his floor. His obscenities are heard by an old lady who Shane hadn’t noticed at the other end of the hall, and Shane wants to explain himself, but he doesn’t think the truth would go over well so he just accepts her judging stare with a friendly wave and hides himself away in the elevator when it arrives. 

Shane doesn’t want to think about what just happened. He’s way too tired to find a realistic answer, and his wired brain, if given the opportunity, would surely just blow things out of proportion, so instead he steps into the first coffee shop he sees and immerses himself in the lovely familiarity of lattes and warm blueberry muffins. He eats and drinks slowly, staring out the window but not really letting his eyes focus on anything. It's fully nighttime when Shane finally snaps out of his own thoughts; he doesn’t know what time it is. Luckily, the barista does, and she walks up to his table and tells him so, as well as how the cafe will be closing in five minutes. And Shane’s yet to receive any sort of sign that Ryan has returned to normal. 

Shane holds his wallet over the table and lets a few coins fall out. He’ll give them as a monetary apology to the barista for the state of his table - muffin crumbs and coffee cup rings all over - as well as for his lack of regard for time and the fact that he’s the last customer still in the coffee shop. He tries to take a sip of his latte, but finds it empty, so he slides off the wooden chair to place the coins into her tip jar. The barista stops him before he can turn away from the counter. 

“Can I get you one last drink before you go? You don’t look like you’re going to make it that far without one.” Her words have a kick to them, but her eyes are a warm, dark brown that win over Shane’s trust quite easily. 

“I would love to, but I couldn’t possibly take anymore of your time.” Shane’s never been good at human interaction, but this is actually going quite well for him. Who knew all that he had to do was stay awake for an obscenely long time, admit to his friend that he can talk to cursed objects, then watch said friend do...whatever you would call what Ryan had done, and he would get free drinks? 

The girl starts to make another latte for Shane anyways, and invites him to take a seat at the counter to wait. 

“Where are you from?” She asks over the whir of the coffee machine.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said New York?”

“Oh honey, there’s no way you’re a New Yorker. But that’s ok, neither am I.” The girl - her name tag reads Sara - reaches over the counter to hand Shane his drink, then stays there, elbows on the surface and face angled towards Shane. “I’m originally from LA.”

“Oh, me too,” Shane takes a slow sip of the coffee, relaxing into its bittersweet taste. “I’m here on business with my friend Ryan.” 

“What sort of business?” Sara moves away from Shane to get a cloth and begins to clean up the counters, but she doesn’t make any moves to kick Shane out, and Shane guesses that she enjoys the company.

“We’re filming a video for Youtube.” 

“What channel? Maybe I’ve seen it.” 

“Honestly, I don’t remember the name.” Shane realizes that maybe he should actually put in some effort to help with the filming part, or at least the being filmed part of their job. “It’s Ryan’s channel, I’m just a special guest.” 

“Well, I can see why he’d ask you to join,” Sara says, voice smooth like honey. “I would certainly watch a video if you were in it.” 

Shane thinks that maybe Sara’s picking up more than he’s putting down, but he gives her his number anyway, with the promise of ‘letting her know where she can find the Youtube video’. He stumbles out of the cafe with the latte topped up and his hair fluffed by Sara’s hand. He feels a bit like Ryan from the airport, but he keeps telling himself that having a girl flirt at him and hooking up with a girl on her lunch break are two very different things. 

Against all odds, Shane manages to find his way back to the hotel without much trouble. He’s gotten to the point where half of his mind believes that the thing with Ryan was all just a fever dream, and the other half of his mind doesn’t care what it was, so long as Shane gets to go to sleep soon. 

He opens the door with a bang and flicks on the lights to illuminate the room. Ryan’s body is lying face down on the rug. 

Shane isn’t sure whether he should turn the lights back off because Ryan’s asleep, or scream for help because he’s died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newsflash: Ryan isn't dead. 
> 
> I know this kind of kills the cliffhanger, but I didn't want to leave you guys with that one. 
> 
> xx


	7. Tired at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan grapples with his inner demons, and Shane gets a glimpse into them. The rooftop view of New York provides an intimate, timeless setting for a conversation they wouldn't have elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back! Hope you enjoy this new update, and sorry for the wait! My inspiration just fell off a cliff and disappeared somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, but I think that it's come back to me.

Ryan starts to stir when he hears Shane open the door; by the time Shane’s made it to Ryan’s side, Ryan is sitting up. His expression is dazed and his hair is all stuck up on one side from how he was positioned. 

“Did I—Where am—What happ—” Ryan stutters, his eyes search frantically across Shane’s face as if the answer is hidden somewhere between his eyebrows or on his lips. 

“Are you feeling better now? Are you ok?” Shane hears the worry in his own voice and tries to will it away. He knees beside Ryan and puts a hand on his friend’s knee, which Ryan moves away from. 

“I don’t know… I don’t know how I got here.” Ryan’s voice is near a whisper. He sounds like he’s talking to himself more than having a conversation with Shane. 

“How you got where? New York? The hotel room?” Is this a concussion? Shane does a quick replay of the day, trying to remember a time when Ryan may have hit his head.

“No, I—Just, I don’t remember how I got on the floor.” Ryan runs his hands anxiously against his thighs. Shane’s own hand fights the urge to reach out to him again. 

“What’s the last thing you do remember?” Shane asks. He’s pretty shit at comforting people, so his go-to method is to ask a bunch of questions and try to form a solution. His friends throughout school always came to him for homework help, but never to seek support for emotional problems. 

“I—you told me you can talk to the ring. Oh—oh my God, am I making that up? Am I losing my mind? The curse! Maybe it...” Ryan’s got both hands wrapped around his skull. His breath is becoming uneven. 

“No, no! That actually happened. I can ‘talk to the ring’, or whatever. You’re not cursed. You’re ok,” Shane says. Ryan’s spiraling and Shane needs to pull him out of it before he has a full blown panic attack

“Are you sure?” Ryan sounds weak and his body is trembling. “Because then how’d—how’d I end up,” he gulps, “On the floor.” 

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I know you’re ok. You’re ok, just come with me.” Shane drags Ryan up to standing by looping his hands under his arms, and leads Ryan out the door. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but they need to leave that suffocating little room. Shane isn’t going to tell Ryan about the strange way he acted before Shane left, because that would just freak him out further. What he needs to do is try to calm Ryan down, remind him that he’s Ryan Bergara, Youtuber, and that nothing has changed. 

Shane just needs to convince himself first. 

The stairs shake with a metallic ringing as Shane pounds his feet into each step. It’s late, and he would normally take caution to walk quietly, but that’s hard to do when you’re dragging you half-frozen-in-shock friend along behind you. 

There are many doors that branch off to either side—heavy, emergency exit doors, and lighter, windowless doors for entry onto each floor. Shane ignores them all, intent on climbing the stairs until there’s nowhere left to go. The building has to stop going up at some point.

When it does, when they reach the final door, Shane pulls them both through it. He’s hit by a gust of cool air, the smoggy smell of city life bounding up his nose. An expanse of flat, black roofing, dotted with vents and tubes and little knobs, stretches out before them. The sides are contained by a three foot tall barrier, but Shane’s still sure to keep Ryan close by. He feels a bit like he’s looking after a particularly tired toddler, on the verge of a tantrum. Ryan’s eyes are puffy and his arms are crossed. The state of his hair isn’t doing him any favours, either. 

“It’s cold. Let’s go back.” Ryan shivers, although Shane feels it’s more from his state of shock than the temperature. 

“Suck it up, buttercup. We just got here.” Shane takes a few steps towards the edge of the roof. Stretched out in all directions is New York at night. Their building is one of the shorter ones in this area, so the view isn’t as breathtaking as it probably would have been from a few more floors up; nonetheless, Shane gazes out in wonder at the little square lights dancing in the darkness. He’s always loved the sight of a city at night. 

Shane grew up in rural America, and when he used to look out of his childhood bedroom at night, the only thing he would see would be the empty black of night. He could keep his blinds open all year round and never be woken from sleep. It was peaceful in a way that he didn’t learn to appreciate until it was gone, but it was also isolating. When he looked out over the city, he felt alive, and connected to the world as if it, too, was alive. There were people in each of those windows, working or sleeping or talking, loving or hating. Just—people. Like he was a person, and he and everyone else were just trying to make it through this exact same moment. 

“I’m going inside.” Ryan’s mumbled voice jostles Shane out of his thoughts. He springs around and grabs Ryan by the waist, pulling him back from the doorway he’s trying to leave through 

“Not so fast, Mister. We still have a few things to do.” 

Ryan shakes himself loose of Shane’s grasp, but stays where Shane put him. 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Ryan says with a sneer.

“But it’s so pretty out here!”

“Where’d you go?” 

“I—What?” Shane pulls his gaze from the lights to Ryan’s tired face.

“When I woke up, you were gone. Why did you leave?” Ryan’s tone is demanding, but his whole body lacks the same energy. He slumps down to sit on the roof—still warm from the daytime sun—and Shane joins him, crossing his long legs underneath himself. 

“I went to get some coffee and a snack, but that’s not what’s important.”

“I was so tired.” Ryan's voice is breathy and odd. 

“What?” 

“I don’t know what happened, but I was so tired. I just needed—it felt so good to sleep. I didn’t want to wake up.”

Shane side-eyes Ryan, who does still appear half asleep. Could the whole thing have been some weird sleep-walking episode? 

“Are you sure—” 

“I was just tired,” Ryan bites back. He says it in the same tone one would say ‘Drop it, or else’. So Shane drops it, but he doesn’t feel good about it. He feels like they’re ignoring the telltale signs of a serious problem, like when your tooth really hurts but you choose to ignore it instead of going to the dentist, and then soon you wind up in the ER with an infection so bad they have to remove three teeth instead of just one. 

“I’m tired too, I guess.” Shane relents, hoping it’ll appease Ryan.

“Oh good. Does that mean you’re gonna let me go back to the room now?”

The memory of Ryan lying motionless on the floor flashes through Shane’s mind, and he shakes his head to clear it. 

“Not yet!” He replies cheerily. “Look around you, it really is such a pretty view. Let’s stay out here and enjoy it a bit longer.”

Each time a car passes below their building, rushing along the grid-like street below, there’s a beam of golden headlights reaching up the buildings like the first grasps of sunlight. Shane feels a bit like a god, witnessing daylight come and go over and over, in a sped-up cycle. Enough cars go by that he forgets about anything else, focusing only on the rotating light and dark; it's like the tide of an ocean. The promise of the return. 

“Were you scared?” Ryan asks, his voice reminding Shane of his existence. And maybe it’s the fatigue, or the surrealness of sitting on the roof in a state that's not your own, but Shane has a feeling that this isn’t a conversation they’d have under other circumstances. 

“When?”

“When you saw me on the floor of the hotel room. Were you scared?”

Shane turns his head to look at Ryan, but he’s turned his gaze up at the sky. His arms are behind him, fingers spread to support himself as he leans backwards. 

“Of course I was scared, Ryan. I didn’t know why you were on the ground. My first thought was actually that maybe you had died. And with the way you had been acting just before I left… anything could have happened, really.” 

Ryan seems to ignore the tentative worry in Shane’s words, and delves into another thought. 

“Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside of me; something that I can’t control.” 

Shane thinks of his ability surrounding historic objects. 

“I think I know how you feel.”

“I’m scared, too. You’re not going to believe me, but sometimes I’m convinced that I’m possessed, because I hear things, sometimes. Like voices, but they’re not saying words. It’s more like a pull, like they’re pulling me towards wherever they want to go.” Ryan’s eyes are locked on the dark sky above them.

He pauses, and Shane waited for him to continue. In the silence, he listens to cars pass by below them, looking once more for their golden light.

“Sometimes I forget things, too. Moments, or hours. This isn’t the first time. Sometimes I just wake up, and I’m not sure where I’ve been or how I’ve ended up where I am.”

“It’s ok,” Shane said, because Ryan has stopped talking and because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“What if it’s not, though.” 

“It’s ok, because there are people who care for you. We’re going to help you through it.” 

Ryan purses his lips as if he disagrees, then says, “This is the first time though. The first time that someone has been there.”

“Me?”

“Who the fuck else would I be talking about right now?” 

Shane absentmindedly runs his fingers along his shirt collar. “You must have so many friends.” 

Ryan laughs a short, humorless laugh, and says, “The other Youtubers? Please. They just want my money or my subscribers. All the collabs and meet ups and things, they’re not real.” He seems genuinely upset by this, as if by saying it out loud to himself he’s reaffirmed it in his mind. 

“Ok,” says Shane, “Ok, alright. But you must have friends from somewhere else, then.”

“Like what?”

“Like from University?”

“Not many friends to be made in one semester.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Forget I said that.” Ryan brushes his hands against his knees then pushes himself roughly to standing. “Whatever. Whatever, I don’t care. It must be the tiredness. It’s making me act like a girl.” He half-steps-half-stumbles towards the door and disappears through it before Shane can stand up. Shane takes one last look around himself, and one last breath of the cooling night air. He savours the uncleanliness of it, how it seems as if the city has breathed in it and exhaled it again, along with all of the pieces of concrete and newspaper and smoke and whatever else there is to get caught in the winds of New York. 

He bids the beautiful lights goodnight, then follows Ryan's path down all of the many stairs, and carefully through the heavy door. He double-checks the floor number before exiting the staircase, weary of setting off an alarm. 

Ryan has opened his suitcase and dragged out the last few things it’s been holding—books; great big textbook like ones, as well as slimmer, flimsy notebooks, and novels that seemed to be falling apart from age. He has them layered over his bed and spread out over the floor. 

“How on earth did all of those manage to meet the plane luggage weight requirement?” Shane asks as a way of greeting, and then because his question isn’t granted a response, he follows up with another: “I thought you were blaming everything that’s happened so far on you being too tired to act normally, so why have you decided to go book diving right now?” 

Ryan doesn’t seem in any hurry to answer this question either, so Shane uses the only advantage he can think of: his height. He slides Ryan’s current read out from between his fingers and reaches up to hold it tauntingly above his head.

“Give it back, loser,” growls Ryan.

“Well actually, according to pretty much every high school movie I’ve ever seen, this position makes you the definite loser,” Shane shoots back. He’s never been the cool kid from that high school movie, but boy is it fun to annoy Ryan, who definitely was that cool kid in his day.

“Not funny, ok? Not now.” Ryan stands up on his bed, using the extra two feet of leverage to easily steal his book back. 

“I wanted to do some reading so that I’d have things to think about as I fall asleep. Things other that why your head is so fucking big.”

“Hey!” Shane gasps.Than he chuckles merrily. “I guess I do have a big head. Good one, Ryan!” 

Shane’s courteous remarks don’t seem to be making any better of an impact on Ryan than the questions had—both being met with silence—so Shane cuts his losses and steps into the bathroom to change into his pyjamas. He nearly has to laugh when he sees his reflection in the mirror: his hair’s a right awful mess and his eyes are half sunken into the dark circles etched beneath them. No wonder that Sara girl from the coffee shop had insisted he needed to take another coffee. He changes into his blue striped fleece pants, followed by a retro band t-shirt. The cotton of the shirt is worn and nearly threadbare—the perfect consistency for comfy sleepwear. He brushes his teeth, happy to rid his mouth of the bitter after-caffeine taste, and splashes a bit of water on his face. 

Back in the main room, Shane finds a conked-out Ryan laying on top of the covers, books a plenty still surrounding him.

Shane piles the books into a few stacks on the bed side table, and moves to turn the light off, but stops when he sees a page from one book clasped between Ryan’s curled fingers. Shane pulls it free slowly, and feels his pulse quicken as his eyes traced the headline: 'Local Boy Murdered in Cold Blood Outside of Jewelry Store, 1924'

It must be their jewelry store. 

Shane sits on the edge of Ryan’s bed, muscles tense and body vibrating from excitement. He devours the article, and scours the books to try and find more. 

This is exactly what they had been needing to find. The next clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey tell me what you thought! Love to hear from you guys. 
> 
> I hope you're having a nice day. 
> 
> xx


	8. Dust Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane and Ryan ghost hunt in a dusty wasteland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter today, but I think this scene is pretty different from the others, so it gets its own time to shine.

Shane’s foot sends up a cloud of orange dust when he steps. His pant leg, which, if he’s remembering correctly, had before been the colour of blue denim, is now stained a deep burgundy. And the side of the road where they’d been dropped off is still in sight. Ryan marches on beside him. His hoodie’s up, but the bulkiness of his head phones, and their cord dangling down to the buzzing device held in his hand, are still visible. 

Ryan had wanted to cart in a whole truckload of equipment with them. He had tried to commission Shane to carry the backpack, because ‘you’re so tall, it’ll feel like nothing to you!’ to which Shane had explained how he was tall, but lanky, meaning that he was not strong, per say, just long. He’d voiced his fear that Ryan’s 10-ton backpack would bend him over in half. So now, no one’s carrying the backpack, and only a very little portion of Ryan’s ghost hunting gear has actually made it out with them to this dust pit. 

The chosen gear includes the spirit box, which Shane hates intensely, and the noise recorder, which Shane really doesn’t have much of an opinion on. The only thing that it does, at least of impact to his own life, is sit in his pocket and occasionally flash a little red light. Shane's agreed to carry the recorder because he has no doubt that the only sounds it'll pick up are the swishing of his pants as he steps and perhaps snippets of their conversation. Ryan will worry himself over the audio all night, listening to small segments on repeat like a mad man. The most Shane can do for the poor guy is carry it around on their ‘ghost hunt’. 

Ryan coughs, having stepped in a way that sends orange dust directly at his face. They’re about five minutes down the red dirt path, their footsteps like echoes behind them. Shane feels as if they’ve been transported about half the country west, and south, and ended up in Texas. He feels like at any second now it would be fair game to have a bull storm towards them, horns forward and eyes ablaze. He tries to remember what you’re supposed to do if a bull charges at you. Wave something red? 

In the distance, obscured by the haziness of the air around them, flickering like a mirage, rough shapes of cars are visible. Or rather, things that had at one point been cars, but now are really more accurately described as lumps of metal and rusted paint, taking up space on a forgotten corner of the New York suburbs. 

Frank’s New and Used Car Parts. Ryan had found the sight after much searching. His efforts had been aided by Shane, as was demanded by his agreement through the museum, meaning that Shane had hung his head off the foot of the bed, feet on the pillows, gazing at the ceiling, and had replied to Ryan's questions with remarks such as ‘nah.’ ‘yeppers’, and ’kachow!’

Shane wouldn't give Ryan any leeway, because Shane had made up his mind as soon as he’d found the paper clenched in a sleeping Ryan’s hand: the ring had been with the murder victim when he’d died. He'd been found in his car, ring wound around the right index finger, that's what the paper had described. Shane concluded that the killer was a man who wanted to marry the same girl. Some kind of love triangle, jealous lover gone wrong type thing. He’d seen it all the time on cop shows and drama TV. 

Ryan wasn't so quick to accept Shane’s obvious truth, so he’d decided to get more clues in the only way he knew how: ask the people who had been there. Those people, of course, were long dead. 

Ryan crouches down next to the window of a clunked up old car. The front bumper is falling off, and the doors and roof are all caved in and scratched so bad that it’s hard to tell which colour is the paint and which colour is the body. Surprisingly, this is still one of the better off cars of the lot. 

“I think that it’s this one,” Ryan decides.

“Why?” 

“It feels right.”

“Oh really? Who died and made you psychic?” Shane regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth.

“That’s not… besides, I’m not psychic.” Ryan’s eyes open wider, and Shane can just see a light bulb switch on over his head. “I’m not psychic, but you are!” 

He stands up from beside the car and steps behind Shane, pushing him forward with both hands. Shane’s feet slid in the dust, and he lifts his arms to protect his face. The pads of his fingers make contact with the metal, and Shane braces for the images that Ryan has predicted, but nothing comes. 

“Not this one. Yes, I’m sure.” Shane adds the last half of his sentence after looking at Ryan, anticipating what he’s going to say. 

“Ok, well, looks like you’re the new head ghost hunter.”

“No thanks,” Shane says. He considers making something up so that they can move on, but the ring and what it can do tug at the back of his mind. Begrudgingly, Shane begins to lead their little ghost adventure down between the lines of ‘cars’, stilling beside the occasional one to touch his hand to it. He notices, when the sun pops out from behind a cloud and the ground explodes into a fiery orange, that Ryan has trailed a few steps farther behind. He’s holding his video camera with one hand, the lens pointed at Shane. 

Shane stalls, scuffing his feet. He lifts his water bottle to his mouth and takes a few sips. All Ryan wants to do is capture enough footage to add to his Youtube video. It’s part of the gig. Shane knows this.

But Shane has a hard enough time using his ‘power’ in front of even just one person. The ground starts to spin under him at the thought of possibly hundreds of thousands of people watching him do it on video. 

Maybe, it he could just walk a few steps, touch a few cars, Ryan would put the camera away, and no one would be the wiser. Shane takes a breath, takes a step, and reaches his pointer finger out to touch the hood of an old-fashioned grey two-door. 

The next time he’s in control of his own mind, he’s sitting slouched up against the door of the car, hands buried deep in the red-orange sand.

The last pieces of the puzzle, like a glass dropped and shattered on the floor, are awake and restless in Shane’s mind. The car had seen it all. Shane’s mind races with information overload. It’s buzzing like a headache. As if he had always known, Shane now sees that the car he’s leaning up against is the same car that came to him in his vision while he and Ryan were on the plane. Metal handles, still and stubborn; jammed car doors, and using all his might to open them; rough concrete when he fell out; his hair wet from rain; screaming all around him. That was the night of the murder, replayed for him as if anew.

But the real danger isn’t focused on him, he realizes with a spark of relief, and then greater panic. Ryan was always so careful, so scared, but even his instruments and rituals couldn’t save him now. 

It was this: the end. Shane pushed himself up out of the dust, rising to standing beside Ryan. Video camera and ghost hunting equipment alike have been shoved hastily into his pockets, and his focus is undividedly on Shane. 

Ryan's wide eyes tell Shane that if he does nothing then Ryan will soon be fully pulled into his anxiety, so Shane does the only thing he can think in a second to do—begins to run.

Roughly car-shaped objects hidden under layers of red dust flicker past him as he barrels for the exit, the New York road that will transport them away from this graveyard and back to reality. Whatever reality is now, Shane isn’t sure. Ghosts aren’t real; there’s no way he’ll ever say that they are, but evil, vile, terrible things that can latch onto you may be a different story. 

Perhaps demons are what they should have been afraid of. 

The thumping of their feet against the ground, dulled though it is by the thick dust, drives Shane forward like a relentless drum beat. Into battle, then. When they arrive at the gate, Shane swings wide around it. They were careful coming in, asking for permission and waiting for the gate to be opened, but there’s no time for that now. Grey clouds overhead swirl and give warning of rain. Shane wonders if he’ll be around to feel rain on his skin again, or if his last memories will be the scorching dryness of the dust. 

It’s not an easy feat to run in the streets of New York. It’s even harder when your short friend is screaming at you constantly to both complain about the speed you’re going, and to demand an answer for your questionable actions. Ok, maybe Ryan has a valid reason for being worried, but Shane can’t tell him. Not yet. He doesn’t want to risk Ryan melting down here, on the street. They don’t have time. 

It’s November 5th and they are so damn out of time; Shane feels adrenaline pulsing up his spine and terror eating at his heart. 

Shane winds up at their hotel entrance with sweat dripping down his face and no shoes on. He’s not sure where his shoes have gone. That’s rather unfortunate—they were good shoes. Ryan appears at his side a few seconds later, breath raspy and cheeks flushed. 

“You are—" a breath “—a crazy lunatic!” Ryan pushes past Shane and summons the elevator. Shane thinks ‘screw it’ and jogs up the stairs. They meet again in their hotel room. It’s already too late. 

Ryan’s eyes have a feral glow to them, their usual dark brow shining newly auburn. He’s not talking, which is worse. Ryan always has so many questions. 

Shane puts his hands on his knees and pants a few breaths, regretting the half-marathon they just ran. He uses his sweat to push his hair back off his face, and slowly, quietly, thinking calm thoughts all the while, reaches into the corner of Ryan’s bag where he’s st the ring. It’s knocked out of his hand by a novel: hardcover, badly wrinkled pages, thrown by Ryan’s hand but not, Shane thinks, of his own volition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm expecting there to be only one or two chapters left, maybe one and an epilogue. We're getting close to the end, my friends!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading xx


	9. It Began To Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a demon and maybe it possesses them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present the long awaited final chapter (plus an epilogue to be published shortly). I do apologize that it took so long and I hope that it finishes the story in a way that is both satisfying and entertaining. 
> 
> All my love, 
> 
> InfinateSky

The sky burns red along the horizon, and in the distance, it has begun to rain. The blinds of their hotel room are open, but all of the doors are closed—the front door, which was closed gingerly by Shane about an hour ago; the bathroom door, which has been closed since they arrived and was presumably shut by the cleaner; and the closet door, closed and locked from the outside, being used as a cage for Ryan’s revolting body. Every few minutes he revolts anew, fists pounding against the thin wood and mouth screaming curses in an old language that Shane doesn’t recognize. He’s sure Ryan wouldn’t, either. 

Because it’s not Ryan who’s screaming them now. As Shane was told in his vision, the ring which Ryan had so hoped wouldn’t curse him had in the end done much worse. Shane tore pages out of books and covered all of the surfaces with underlined papers and news articles and notes written hastily by hand from facts he had found online. How in the world was he going to exorcise a demon? Every article he found was either too complicated, needed ingredients that would be impossible to find, or involved the likely death of the possessed. 

All of Ryan’s dumb ghost books and not a single one seemed to include a simple solution for when your friend got possesed by an ancient demon who had taken up residence in a ring. 

In a last ditch effort, Shane pulled up google on his phone - which was currently being held above his face in both hands as he lay on his back diagonally across Ryan’s bed. Books fell jumbled against his sides, and loose papers crunched underneath him whenever he moved - man, he really had made a mess of the place. Into the search bar he typed ‘demon ring possesed my friend, help’ and hit go. He didn’t expect anything worthwhile to show up on his screen. 

Ryan’s fists began a new round of aggressions against the closet door. Shane scrolled through the results. He had moved on to page two by the time something caught his interest enough for him to click the link to the website. 

I was an edgy, unprofessionally done blog about all things occult, with the entertaining domain name of EverydayWitchesBeBitches.com. Once he had scrolled down past a gif of a cauldron boiling over, there was an article in pale green font over a black background. Shane strained his eyes to read. Rain moved closer towards them. Ryan’s fists pounded the closet door. 

Shane made a plan. 

-

As is turned out, of course, the demon wasn’t going to give up on his home happily and easily, skipping off towards the sun humming a tune just because Shane had asked him to please leave his friend alone. In the end, and Shane guessed this was always the case, it came down to one of them giving in, either Shane, Ryan, or the demon. And it wasn’t going to be the demon. And Ryan had already been fighting for too long. 

After scratching and hitting and cursing at the closet door into the thin hours of early morning, the demon quiets, and Shane hears Ryan’s body fall to the floor. When he cautiously unlocks and opens the door, he has to hurry to catch Ryan’s form before Ryan knocks his head against the doorframe. He catches him with his hands on Ryan’s shoulders, then grunts as he loops an arm underneath him and carries him bridal style to the bed. 

Like this, it’s almost as if he’s fine, sleeping for the completely normal and usual reason of being tired at 3-o-clock in the morning, instead of this intense fatigue brought on by a demon draining his body of all its energy, returning at any point. 

Shane has no idea how long it will take Ryan to wake up, but whether he awakes in two minutes or five hours, Shane’s plan is going to need to be ready. He collects the various papers strewn around the room, and piles them neatly underneath his bed. As long as Ryan doesn’t find them before the plan is carried out, it’s fine. It won’t matter what anyone thinks after. 

He tiptoes around the room, collecting everything he needs, which isn’t much. He dips into the bathroom to change, closing the door so so softly. His hair, brown and stringy and hardly ever styled, even gets to be combed today. His eyes return his tired gaze back to him from the other side of the mirror. He almost has it in him to cry a few tears, but that moment passes. 

Once everything else is in order, and he has a set of precise steps memorized to perfection, Shane sits at the little desk and writes out three separate letters. His words he squishes onto sheets from the little pad of paper provided by the hotel, with their emblem decorating the top right corner. The first letter is to his job at the museum: thank you for all the great learning opportunities. Thank you for believing in me. The second is to his parents: I love you. I’m sorry we haven’t talked in a while. I miss you. The third letter is the hardest to write. It consists nearly entirely of apologies. The third letter is for Ryan: I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I had to lie to you now. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve lied to you before. I’m sorry it had to end like this. 

The last line of this letter he debates for a while. He almost leaves it where it is, but he’s not going to be around when Ryan reads it, so really, what does he have to lose. 

I wish we had had more time. I think I could have loved you. 

Ah. This. Shane and this part of himself are not friends. There are times when he feels secure enough to assign it a label and sometimes even to share it with others, but it's still so hard. He hoped it would get better, but it seems he has run out of time. If only he had learned to love this part of himself a little sooner. Maybe if he had grown up somewhere different, or knew different people growing up. It didn’t matter. This was what had happened. Soon a few other things would happen and then it would all be over. 

After some deliberation, Shane writes a fourth letter. This one he addresses ‘To you, whoever you are.’ Here, he writes all that he knows, all that the ring told him, and all that he pieced together from their research. It's a sad story, some of it still too supernatural for Shane to really believe. Maybe that made it easier, if he told himself that it couldn’t have been true. But the real life facts no longer support him on that one. 

Shane watches as the skyline out the window begins to grow brighter. His last sunrise. It isn’t a particularly nice one to be going out with. The rain in the distance has been moving closer all throughout the night, casting the morning light a dull grey, and shadowing the horizon. He looks over at Ryan, perfectly still in a deep sleep. He doesn’t look particularly relaxed, and when he awakens he’ll still be tired. 

Shane sets an alarm on his phone for one minute from now, and he watches the seconds tick down. The cheery chimes wake Ryan; they break the hours long silence that Shane had grown used to. Ryan sits up slowly, rubbing his dark-rimmed eyes.

“What time is it? I feel like crap. Did we drink last night? I think I blacked out.” 

Good, he doesn’t remember. And even better, he’s back to his old self for now. 

“Good morning pal! It’s early, but we have stuff to do. Up and at ‘em!” Shane forces a goofy smile onto his face. He throws some of Ryan’s clothes at Ryan’s chest, and motions towards the bathroom. “Go get changed. We should be leaving.”

“Wait, what? I don’t remember setting anything up for early tod-” 

“Come on Ry! We’re going back to the jewelry store today! They’re letting us have a look around their back room. You called and asked them last night.” 

Ryan gives Shane a questioning glance, but seemed to buy it. He staggers into the bathroom, still a little loopy from the demon possession, or as he seems to assume, from a crazy night on the town. Shane will let him continue to think that. Works for him. 

He’s somehow able to persuade Ryan to be ready to go within half an hour (a surprising feat, as Ryan is not a morning person). Shane lets Ryan leave the hotel room first, claiming he has to grab one more thing. With Ryan out of the room, Shane moves the four letters onto the table where someone is sure to spot them. The final thing he does is to grab the ring—still carefully wrapped so it won’t touch his skin—and slip it deep into his pocket. 

They leave the hotel together and begin the now familiar walk down the busy sidewalk towards the jewelry store. Shane takes many deep breaths to calm himself, and holds his arms tightly against his sides to stop them from shaking. 

-

Shane used to be the type of person who’s cheeks would grow red at the slightest embarrassment, and who’s body language would easily convey what he was feeling. He had to learn how to concentrate—as someone who grew up with countless secrets and a paralyzing fear of what would happen should someone find them out, he had to find ways to put up walls between himself and those around him. He trained himself to laugh things off, smile through pain, stay calm under pressure. 

Right now, standing beside the wall of the jewelry store, on the sidewalk where he’ll choose to die, is the ultimate test of his ability to stay calm. There is so much pressure. There is pressure building in his body, causing his ears to ring and his jaw to ache. There’s pressure from the chance that it could go wrong, and that if he lets it go wrong, people will suffer. Ryan will suffer. 

Shane isn’t a stranger to lying to Ryan, so what’s one more time? He told Ryan the jewelry store people would let him in through the back door. No, he didn’t need to knock. They’d let him in. Of course, there would be no one there to let him in because no one had been asked to do so, but finding the door and then waiting for someone to open it should keep Ryan away for long enough. Shane claimed that he was sensing something out here and would stay just a little longer in case anything happened. He shifts the video camera in his hands—Ryan insisted he take it, and Shane figured that taking it would give the lie more believability. He turns the camera on, and points it at Ryan. 

“And there he goes, the fearless Ryan Bergara, off to hunt some ghosts.” He narrates.

Ryan smiles his cheesy camera smile, instantly standing straighter. He holds up his ghost hunting equipment and shows it off, explaining what each one does, before looking back to Shane. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

“And be coerced into carrying more of your silly ghost hunting gear for you? Yeah, I don’t think so.” Shane has dropped the camera away from Ryan by this point. He smiles. Ryan smiles back, smaller and more genuine than before. 

“Ok, see ya’ later, then.” 

“‘Course,” Shane replied. /Please know I’m sorry/, he tried to say with his eyes. /I’m sorry/. 

He watches Ryan walk away. Every muscle in Shane’s body is shaking. He feels like he’s looking back on the moment, plagued with knowledge of what happens after. He’ll never see Ryan again, and he knows this for himself, not because the ring is trying to force him to believe it. Shane’s no match for the demon, and the cursed ring is hungry. That damned ring. 

Ryan turns back to look at him one last time before he turns the corner. His eyes are drawn together in what looks like worry, almost as if he can feel that this situation is off. Shane tries to smile again, because Ryan needs to think that he’s ok. He needs to stay away and keep himself safe, so that Shane’s sacrifice can be worth it. 

Ryan, now standing ten feet away from him, sways slightly. He’s debating coming back, but decides against it. He pulls his hood down low over his forehead while he turns the corner and leaves Shane’s view. Over top of them, it’s begun to rain. 

Confident that Ryan’s gone, Shane drops the front and lets himself crumple to the ground, slumped against a car door with his legs positioned awkwardly over the curb. He finds his mind wandering, wishing that things could have been different, but he pulls it back. This is what he has to do now, and if he doesn’t do it then nothing will have even made a difference. This is the hand he has been dealt, and he will play the game until he’s forced to leave.

He feels soft drops of rain leave marks on his clothes, and mix with the tears that drip from his eyes. The morning is warm and windless, the rain refreshing. Though the ground underneath him is hard, he can’t help but feel as if he could be sitting on a cloud. 

Caught in the daze of the moment, Shane pulls the ring out of his pocket. He unwraps it gently and cradles it in his palm. The ring burns his skin like he’s holding a hot ember, but it’s not painful. He encircles his hands around it, letting it come into contact with as much skin as possible. His eyelids flutter closed as he reaches deep into the back of his mind to call for the ring. To call for the demon.

It’s burning and bumping against his hands— a butterfly trying to fly away. He holds it closer. Clutches it against his chest. He can’t feel his legs anymore, and he imagines perhaps the demon has already stolen his movement. He hears voices inside his head. They are loud but they aren’t yelling and it’s not painful. He doesn’t fight it. He relaxes into the darkness. 

His body seems to have left him, as he can no longer feel it. He still feels the ring, hot and alive, but not like he’s holding it anymore. It’s more like it’s inside of him. Good. This is good. If he is successful, the demon from the ring will move into him instead, leaving the ring safe and nothing more than exactly what it seems to be. 

What does it feel like to be possessed by a demon? For Shane, it feels like heat and energy and excitement. He is in control, but also he isn’t. 

He does have just enough control left over his body to end it when the time is right. And that, that feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would be absolutely delighted to hear your thoughts. Even if your thoughts are just to yell at me in despair, because, fair.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fourth Letter

To you, whoever you are. 

There was once a love story that ended so horribly a demon was born from the blood. There is a ring, which was there on the night that it happened, and the demon found the ring so tragically beautiful that it attached itself to it. 

From my research I’ve learned that this demon was born from innocent blood spilled for the most vile of reasons. There were two lovers, two men, who had made an agreement to run off and live together. A day before they were meant to leave, one of the lovers overheard some people talking, and learned that they had been found out. The town knew that they were together, and knew what they were planning. Terrified for his life, the lover lost all sense of rationality. He trapped the other man in his car, and shot him through the open window. The other man had no idea what was going on. He was murdered by the person he loved most. 

As the story goes, the living man quickly found a girl to wed, and they fled to the other side of the ocean so that he would not be caught for the murder. No one mourned the dead man.

Personally, I hope their boat crashed. 

S.M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated for a long time whether or not to include Ryan's reaction to this letter in the epilogue. In the end, I decided to keep in neat and tidy and just put the letter. If you are dying to read Ryan's part, give me a shout and maybe I'll find somewhere to post it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. It means a lot.
> 
> Come say hi to me on Tumblr! I'm infinate-sky


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